


The Answer to the Riddle

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Series: (Un)Natural Predators [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Deep Blue Sea (1999)
Genre: Character of Color, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 23:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: "The thing is," Preacher replied, shaking his head ruefully. "Seeing's not the same as believing. Staring at a bunch of so-called monsters in a controlled environment doesn't really teach you what it's like to be the one they're trying to use as a toothpick."





	The Answer to the Riddle

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing Random Buffy Crossover Month: a new entry in the (Un)Natural Predators sequence. Because my mom and I rewatched this old ridic shark movie in preparation for going to see The Meg, and I remembered this old series. :)

"You know, I get it," a sympathetic voice said as a mug was plunked down in front of her. "I really do."

Buffy groaned, then lifted her face from the smooth, cool surface of the kitchen table, blinking at the white ceramic face of the intruding cup. It bore one of the cheesy, stylized logos of a cheerleader wielding a stake that some wise guy or other had ordered for the Cleveland Council House's cupboards-- but the chocolate-y, foamy goodness within more than made up for that at the moment.

She sat up slowly, lifting the mug as she straightened in the wooden chair, and inhaled the whip-topped, non-fat peppermint mocha goodness. Then she looked up at her rescuer with a wry smile. "You certainly get _this_ , but somehow I don't think that's what you meant."

The cook they'd hired for the Cleveland compound, a former preacher with a checkered history, a divine grasp of everyday comfort food menu items, and a reassuring case of unflappability, lifted a single eyebrow. "This predator tour thing," he elaborated. "What you're trying to do with the younger girls."

As far as most of the staff were officially aware, the center of the North American Watcher's Council's network was a girl's school with an unusual emphasis on physical education, but in practice most of them had been clued in one way or another long before they sat their first interview. Which was a good thing, because Buffy was far too tired from trying to keep up with a group of teen and pre-teen Slayers on a supposedly educational vacation to bother trying to parse her words for a civilian.

"Yeah?" She took a much longer sip of her mocha, cradling the warm mug in her hands. "You'd be one of the few, then, Preach."

"The thing is," Preacher replied, shaking his head ruefully as he set a snack plate down where the mug had been. "Seeing's not the same as believing. Staring at a bunch of so-called monsters-- crocodiles, dinosaurs, tame demons, whatever-- in a controlled environment doesn't really teach you what it's like to be the one they're trying to use as a toothpick. You know that. There's always the ones who're sure it's not really all _that_ dangerous, like those tourists you hear about on the news who try to go for a selfie with a bison. Like they're somehow just too _special_ to get attacked."

"Speaking from experience?" Buffy replied, with sympathetic wrinkle of her nose.

"I'll have to show you the bite scar on my thigh sometime," he said, with a teasing leer. "Seriously, though. They're gonna have to learn sooner or later. And some of them won't learn at all until everything goes to hell around 'em. That's just the way people are, even the ones who _aren't_ hormonal time bombs. That place I worked at a few years before I came here-- well, let's just say they didn't respect what they were working with either, and got a lot of good people killed without even a cure for Alzheimer's to show for it."

Buffy sighed. "I know. But what am I supposed to do? I didn't want to just throw them into battle without any real idea how dangerous things can get. At least I was fifteen when it happened to me. The idea is to prove the surviving assholes from the old Council _wrong_ about the average lifespan of a Slayer, not let them all run off half-trained and get themselves killed."

"At this point, it's not so much _let_ ; it's gonna happen, one way or another," Preacher said with a shrug, sitting down opposite her and plucking one of the little pastry things off the plate he'd brought. "You can bring the horse to water, but you can't make her drink. What you _can_ do, is offer them the chance to fuck up-- or not-- on your _own_ terms, when you can make sure there's plenty of backup." He made a face as he popped the snack in his mouth, quickly chewed and swallowed, then continued. "Otherwise, sure as sharks smell blood, you're gonna end up trying to save their ass in the middle of a storm with the lab sinking around your ears and the monsters stalking _you_ instead of the other way around. Trust me. Higher powers _love_ that kind of irony."

It sounded like there was quite a story there; and probably a lot less funny than the one about how he ended up cursed with the name _Sherman Dudley_. Buffy knew he'd worked for a scientific research group that had gone under-- apparently literally-- back in '99, but until now, he'd been pretty tight-lipped about the deets.

"You're probably right," she said with a sigh, propping her chin on one hand as she reached out to take one of the snacks herself. "It's just. They're still in _middle school_. When I think about my sister at that age...." She shuddered, then froze as the taste hit her tongue: seriously, the guy was _magic_ in the kitchen. Better than Andrew, even, which was good, since their ex-guestage had decided to take a permanent post at the Council House in London.

Preacher nodded, expression uncharacteristically solemn, for once living up to the ex-title he still carried as a nickname. "At times like this, I like to remember the twenty-third psalm. 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....'"

"I know that one," Buffy frowned, wondering why he'd brought it up. "'I shall fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.' Except, I have yet to meet any kind of Power who actually makes with the comforting...."

Preacher cleared his throat pointedly and continued, speaking over her. "Ahem. _Surely_ goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. _Because I carry a big stick, and I'm the meanest mother fucker in the valley._ "

"Okay," she broke into a reluctant laugh. " _That_ version of it, maybe I can get behind. You really think I'm coddling them too much?"

He gave her a rueful smile and a shrug. "Hell, what do I know. I'm just the cook. All I know is, kids gotta grow up sometime."

"Thanks, Preach," she said, smiling as she took another pastry. "I'll talk to Faith and the others, see what we can come up with. Thanks for this, by the way. I really needed it tonight."

"Aw, it was nothin'." He waved the praise away. "I was just baking to keep busy until you guys got back. Figured the girls would be hungry tomorrow. So, tell me...." He dropped his voice to a confiding tone, leaning over the table. "I hear you picked up some eye candy this trip? Mentioned the name Brennan to my friend Carter-- man's a wreck diver, been all over the world doing crazy shit-- and he had some interesting stories to tell."

Buffy cast her eyes toward the ceiling. "I went on _one_ date. One. Who's telling stories already?"

Preacher laughed. "You telling me you don't want to hear 'em?"

"Ugh." She made a face at him, then settled back with her mug. "Okay, you got me. Spill."

(In a world full of predators, natural and unnatural alike, that often seemed like they were just waiting around to end Buffy's life and those of her charges-- it was nice to be reminded, once in a while, that she was still human, too.)


End file.
